


One Shot: Tequila Sunrise

by brownskinsugarplum76



Series: Maggie_and_Robert [1]
Category: Led Zeppelin, Rock Music RPF
Genre: Beach Sex, Beaches, British, Drinking, Español | Spanish, F/M, One Night Stands, One Shot, Restaurants, Rock Stars, Tequila, Waiters & Waitresses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-20 15:22:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17025144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brownskinsugarplum76/pseuds/brownskinsugarplum76
Summary: Robert meets Maggie at a beach side restaurant, where they bond over shots. They are unable to resist the call of the ocean--or each other.





	One Shot: Tequila Sunrise

“Last call,” the waitress said in an attempt to get his attention away from the Pacific and its midnight horizon. From his perch on the outdoor deck, the never-ending roll of the waves could be seen in glimpses as the moon highlighted the incoming crests and outgoing foam-topped expanse of saltwater.

He didn’t acknowledge her interjection. It seemed that the spectacle of the water had uncontested control over him.

“Last call, hon,” she said a little louder, moving closer and putting her hand on the table.

He snapped out of his reverie and turned to her. “Oh, sorry about that, darlin’. My mind was somewhere else, but you’ve got my attention now.” He trained his high-voltage smile on her.

After staring at him all night, talking with him, and being bewitched by that smile, she could understand why he and the rest of the band had stoked such a frenzy there, in San Diego. Even though Led Zeppelin had skyrocketed from word-of-mouth following to legend status after four albums released in quick succession and a series of tours of America, there were few magazine articles about them, and virtually no television appearances to shed light on the four members. This scarcity of information made seeing them in the flesh all the more exciting. It also meant she was surprised to find that, up close, his eyes were a curious, turbulent blue, rather than the deep grayscale color that passed for brown in the newspaper photos she had seen of him.

In the full Technicolor of real life, besides his eyes, she was taken aback by the fiery blond of his hair which, along with his gently tanned skin, made a pleasing contrast with the stark, black tank top that he wore, the thin fabric not opaque enough to conceal the fine musculature of his broad chest.

“Can I get you anything else?” she said with a smile, though her question was delivered on a thin line between exasperation and inescapable enchantment. 

It was a long night for her and the other two waitresses, who had to do double duty while the busboy was out sick. There seemed to be more patrons than usual, swarming through the doors after the night clubs and bars had closed. But serving Robert’s food, savoring his appearance, and engaging in flirty small talk just to hear his everyman British accent was the consolation prize that she had won. The other waitresses didn’t stop talking about how envious they were.

“I think I’m done here tonight, but thanks,” he said, taking stock of his empty glass and the plate topped with cutlery and remnants of the enchiladas that he had eaten along with several margaritas on the rocks. “This is the life,” he said, sighing, crossing his legs, and leaning back in his wooden chair. The chair was painted a cheery melon color and was the most shocking hue of all the pastel-tinted chairs and tables in the open-air, late night, tourist-minded restaurant.

She grimaced and started piling the things on his table. “Mine starts up again in about 30 minutes, and not a moment too soon,” she said, looking at her watch and rolling her eyes.

Robert’s contented smile devolved to a grimace and a brief lowering of his eyes. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be insensitive, love…” He looked at her with curious, enterprising eyes, as though he was seeing her again for the first time. She could almost feel his gaze sweeping over her: her jet black waves of hair that were trained into a large bun, her jet, kohl-lined eyes and scarlet lips, her sun-kissed skin that peeked out of her off-the-shoulder peasant blouse, and the rest of her, sheathed in a broom skirt. It was an outfit that was designed to evoke happy images for the tourists, but she didn’t mind too much because it did complement the lines of her body. She sensed he was appreciative as his eye movements almost felt like his large hands, full of rings and sprouting beautiful tapered fingers, were caressing her. Or, at least, that’s how her carnal consciousness had willed her to register the interaction. And now it was all she could think about.

“You know, I never asked your name… What do I call you, to thank you for the wonderful meal you gave me here tonight?”

“My name is Magdalena, but everyone calls me Maggie,” she said.

“Thank you Maggie, for the good meal, and the wonderful conversation.” He smiled. “What are you getting to after you leave here?”

“My plan is to head home, have a couple of tequila shots, and work on my songs.”

“Songwriter, are you? Singer, too?”

“That’s right. I sing in a band with my brother and his friends.”

“What kind of music?” he asked, uncrossing his long legs.

“Nothing as heavy as the heaviest sound of your group.”

“So, somewhere between Brahms and Grand Funk Railroad, then?” he asked with a grin.

She paused before responding and used the opportunity to take in the lines of muscles in his arms and the tight blue jeans he wore. The fabric had a soft, lived-in appearance, as if the pants were a pair he couldn’t live without. A nearly threadbare spot roughly southeast of his zipper was salvaged with a patch that was emblazoned with a circle and a feather, one of the mysterious symbols that appeared on the group’s last album cover. She knew this one was his symbol, but she didn’t know what it meant.

“This isn’t lullaby music we’re making,” she chided. “Some of it makes you dance, some of it makes you cry, but all of our music makes you think,” she answered, her voice louder and more animated now that she was talking about her true passion.

“I’m really intrigued by that description, love. I wish I could be here long enough to see your group in action,” he said. “What’s the name of your band?”

She tried not to stare, but an undeniable bulge in his jeans succinctly explained why the patch was necessary. Another less decorative patch was visible between his legs. She caught herself fantasizing about his wild dancing, as described by her friend who had been to the concert the night before while Maggie worked, how night after night of those kind of thrusts and undulations would’ve led the jeans to their current state.

“We call ourselves La Bruja y Los Santos, The Witch and the Saints,” she said, returning to safe territory.  
“Well, that ain’t no ‘lullaby and goodnight,’ innit? And I bet those ‘saints’ you sing with have sort of fallen from grace, yeah?”

Maggie laughed. “You could say that. Our music is not Brahms, but it’s not The Partridge Family, either.”  
“What a curious name. You are full of mysteries, love… I must say, I do have a bit of a weak spot for women musicians… Joan Baez, the divine Joni Mitchell… And now it seems I’m on to musician women without ‘J’ names, dearest Maggie…”

She blushed at his mention of these women, two of her idols. “I would love to be in that kind of company one day.”

“You know, I’d like to hear more about your music. Let me amend my earlier response, darlin’: please bring a bottle of your finest tequila and some limes. And two glasses, love, one for you, too.”

“You got it,” she said with a wink, excited to talk music with the celebrated front man, and for a chance to engage on a more intimate level, which, she was happy to realize, was where the conversation seemed to be headed. She collected his place setting items and turned toward the kitchen.

***

Maggie returned with everything for their drink together, as well as the bill. Once she had settled his payment, since Robert was the last guest, she unpinned her bun, removed her apron, and sat down next to him. She figured she was owed another break after her taxing shift.

“All mine now?” Robert asked with an eyebrow raised, pouring shots for the two of them.

“Until someone yells at me to get back to work in my last 10 minutes of the night,” Maggie said. She giggled, from the giddiness of her freedom approaching, but also from his flirting. “I’ve heard that the sign of a good songwriter is one who has a way with words beyond lyrics,” she said, leaning forward on the table. “You strike me as someone whose wit is never turned off. I like that about you.”

“And how are you with your words, love? In your songs? ”

“I love to explore emotions deeply. I like to try to make it so listeners feel the same thing that I felt when I was creating the song, through the lyrics, but also through my singing. I like to create vivid, emotional portraits of a moment in time, I guess you could say.”

“I can relate to that. The pen and the vocal cords are the tools of our trade. We don’t have a wealth of guitar scales, or a universe of time signatures for drumming. I like to think we have a more special creative palette: all the shades and different levels of happiness, or sadness, or love, passion… Speaking of passion, how is your way of words when the pen is down and the notebook is closed? When you’re alone with your boyfriend, for example?”

“I’ve never gotten any complaints. And I don’t have a boyfriend right now.” She had to chuckle at his obvious fact-finding question.

“No one to miss you tonight, if you stay out a little longer?” He slowly licked the edge of his hand without breaking eye contact, and then grinned a dimple-bearing smile once he had finished sprinkling some salt on the moistened area. He pushed the salt shaker across to Maggie and picked up a lime slice.

“That’s right, no one. I am a free woman.” Maggie licked her hand quickly before shaking some salt onto it and sliding the shaker back to the center of the table.

“I learned of this curious ritual last night. Back home, it’s just bottoms up, and Bob’s your uncle,” Robert explained. “But I must say, I rather like it: lick, sip, suck, always important actions to practice,” he said with a devilish glint in his eyes.

“Bob?” She asked while selecting a lime wedge for herself. She realized she was going to need the first shot immediately to steady her nerves. It was one thing to chat about the perfect California weather, but to keep up with where he was taking the conversation, where she had fantasized about it going when she first approached his table… she needed more courage than she could muster on her own…

“Ah, just a bit of our slang… Not important. Shall we?” He raised his shot glass.

“Gladly.” She raised hers. “Salud,” she said, clinking her glass against his.

“Salud,” he responded.

They both licked the salt from their hands, gulped down their shots, and chased them with a bite of lime.  
“Thanks, Robert. I needed that.”

“I’m always glad to oblige a fellow artist. I’m honored to get you in the mood for your imagination to go wherever it deems best.”

Maggie reeled from the rush of the liquor on a stomach that hadn’t seen food for hours, and also from Robert’s relentless innuendo.

“I can’t let you leave tonight without telling you how much I love your writing,” she said, changing the subject until she felt more relaxed. “Going to California is one of my favorites. It’s sad, but it’s so vulnerable and beautifully written. But then what your singing adds… And the live versions! You mention ‘it’s so hard’ on one of bootlegs I’ve heard, and you can feel the emotion in those simple words. _Es muy duro_. I’ve written that into one of my latest songs because of you..

“Is that how you say it in Spanish?” Robert asked.

“Mmm hmm.”

“Good to know. I could see that coming in handy in other situations…”

“You never stop, do you?” she asked with a murmur, the flushed sensation in her body signaling that she was ready to engage him in the verbal foreplay that was unfolding between them.

“Not until everyone is satisfied.” He smiled and turned toward her for a kiss.

The brush of his lips against hers deepened her feeling of intoxication. She imagined that if they were not at the ocean, with the constant roar of the waves in the background, her runaway heartbeat would have been just as deafening to her.

“It must be close to quitting time for you now?” Robert asked.

“Very close.” Her eyes widened as she looked at her watch. She had lost track of time. It was well into the middle of the night, which meant she had made it to closing and the end of her shift. Everyone else was off the restaurant floor, probably gathering their things to leave. She looked around and noticed that the other waitresses had tidied up their stations and all of hers, except for Robert’s table. She knew this was a trade-off, a subtle way of them telling her to share all the details of her time with Robert the next day. She hoped that she would have plenty of sordid details for her audience.

“I was going to get a closer look at the ocean,” Robert said. “It’s been calling to me all night. Would you care to join me? Or do you need to go home straightaway? Is there a song burning inside of you, yearning to be free?”

“I think I can put my muse on hold for you for a little while,” she said.

“Wonderful. In the meantime, it looks like we have enough limes for one more shot?”

“It would help me to clear the table if we used them…”

“Allow me to help you this time,” he said after he poured two more shots, then gesturing with an outstretched hand to take one of her hands. His smile was gentle, but the rasp of need in his voice was unmistakable.

She gave him her hand and returned his smile, while inside her body screamed with desire.

He placed her hand on top of his palm. She marveled at how tiny hers looked on top of his.

He dragged his tongue slowly over the appropriate spot. He did it once, twice, three times. Each pass of his tongue fanned the flames inside of her a little higher. He shook on some salt, and then released her hand.

Before she could offer to help him, he quickly licked his own hand. “I would love your assistance in a minute,” he said, noticing her look of confusion.

“OK.”

“Right, hold a lime for me, love?”

Maggie complied.

Robert took her hand again and licked the salt away, drawing tiny circles with his tongue. Then he quickly downed the shot and motioned for the lime slice. 

Maggie squeezed it into his mouth. He caressed her face and kissed her with abandon, groaning his pleasure.

“Your turn,” he said softly, extending his hand to her.  
She felt emboldened by the drink and the cozy vibe between them. She pressed her lips to his hand and licked and sucked off the salt, and then she drank her shot. She leaned forward for Robert to provide the chaser.

“Open wide for me, love,” he murmured, and squeezed the lime juice for her while her mouth was agape.

This time she initiated the kiss, her hands latching into his hair, which was reduced to frizzy waves by the oceanside humidity. They quickly learned that the combination of salt, tequila, and lime tasted just as delicious on each other’s tongues as it did when consumed the proper way.

Robert trailed a hand down her neck to her collarbone. The lights on the deck abruptly went out as his hand was migrating to her breast.

“I think they’re telling me it’s time to go,” she said reluctantly, as he grazed a nipple and sent chills through her body. “I have to take care of a couple of things here. I’ll meet you outside.”

“I’ll see you there.” Robert stood and walked to the exit.

***

Once the restaurant was closed and they had made it onto the sand, Robert and Maggie walked for a while, both of them opting to take their shoes off. Maggie welcomed the feel of the cool sand against her swollen feet.

They talked more about their music: their influences, their experiences in their bands, the best albums they had heard recently. They stopped and kissed every now and then along the way.

Now, they sat in the sand, side by side, watching the waves roll in and out, sharing sips from Robert’s tequila bottle.

“I envy you, growing up so close to this majestic view,” Robert said. “I live on an island, but circumstance has meant the woods and hills are much more familiar to me than the coastline.”

“It is pretty special, isn’t it? I’ve probably taken it for granted, coming every weekend as a kid, seeing it in the distance every day at work, but once you stop and watch it, and take it all in… It is unbelievable. Thank you for getting me to see it with fresh eyes again.”

“I had to come. Do you know that we’ve been in Los Angeles several times, and I still haven’t seen the bloody ocean there? Mind you, there have been plenty of other kinds of memorable moments in the City of Angels, in our hotel of choice… But very few in which I could stop and appreciate the natural beauty around here…”

He paused and looked at Maggie. “Believe it or not, no one knows I’m here. I took a cab over. I had to get away, to see it before we ship out again tomorrow. I’m glad I seized the moment. And, more importantly, I’m glad you joined me in that.”

He lightly grasped her chin and kissed her. Maggie reeled from the softness of Robert’s lips and his intimate caress of her face. She yielded to his tequila-stained tongue, letting it roam and build on the host of sensations she was feeling from the connection to him.

She trailed her hands down his shirt and his abdomen to his lap. “Aprovecha el momento,” she said, nesting her hand on the bulge that had enticed her earlier that night. “Sieze the moment.”

“Let me help you, love.” Robert stood to unbutton his fly and sat back down.

Kneeling over his lap, Maggie took in the sight of his cock, which was larger than she had imagined. “ _Es muy duro_ ,” she said. “ _Tenías razón_. You were right, it is a useful phrase.” She grasped him and delivered a slow series of strokes up and down the length of his manhood. The delicate skin was still quite hot to the touch of her hand, and then her mouth. He was not yet cooled by the nighttime ocean breeze.

Robert leaned backward, planting his hands into the sand. His soft sigh quickly dissipated into the atmosphere as Maggie continued swirling her tongue over the head and covering as much ground with her lips and mouth over his full length as possible. Her hand and mouth chased each other, over and over again, faster and faster, over his cock. Robert’s sighs turned to moans that competed with the sound of the ocean to be heard.

“Mmmmm, love, as incredible as you are, I can’t be selfish tonight,” he said after a while, willing Maggie to stop. “It wouldn’t be fair. Let me take care of you.” He rolled her onto her back. He straddled her and kissed her lips, and then everywhere that was exposed by her off-the - shoulder blouse. She breathed deeply and writhed. Her need became more pronounced when he pulled one of her breasts out of the layers of clothes and licked the nipple to life, and then again when he repeated the action with the other breast.

While he licked and teased, he lifted the front of her long skirt and fondled her sex over her panties. “You’re soaked, darlin’. Have you been ready to seize the moment for quite some time? Just waiting to pounce on me?” Not waiting for an answer, he moved her panties to the side and slowly plunged a finger into her.  
She cried out once, and then even louder a second time when another of his fingers reached the destination.

She pulled him close again for a kiss, but it didn’t last long, as she jerked away suddenly when her body arched and stiffened into a time-stopping climax.

By the time Robert had pulled his jeans down some more and entered her, she had come back to her senses and was aching for another release. She clutched his back and wrapped her legs around him as he braced his hands in the sand. She was not surprised to learn, from the brisk pace, that his need was just as great as hers.

Every second was exquisite sensory overload for Maggie, from the fullness of Robert’s endowment and the feelings cascading from it, to the lingering effects of the tequila, to the moonlight and the breeze that was mitigated by the warmth of his body, to the slow heartbeat of the earth–the infinite crashing of waves.

It was the most alive she could remember feeling in quite some time. Her humdrum job, her band’s tentative steps toward recognition on the local scene, the uncertainty of the path forward… All of it faded away until it was just her and Robert and the shoreline, their primal dance playing out in the embrace of that timeless environment.

Soon after came euphoric release for Maggie, followed by the same satisfying conclusion for Robert, as he grasped her tighter and moaned before going still.

***

The roar of the ocean proved to be a heady lullaby, as Maggie found herself waking up at some later point to a rapidly lightening sky. She learned that she and Robert had mustered enough energy to get dressed again, but not enough to make it to their respective beds.

“Robert,” she said, rousing him with a kiss. “It’s morning.”

She watched him jump start, waking up and transitioning through a series of emotions. He quickly shook off his drowsiness and confusion, and settled on a romantic gaze that acknowledged her and their night together. He kissed her back and held her, generating a warmth between them that rivaled that of the sunrise, which was making the horizon over in shades of pink and orange.

“What a night, dear Maggie! I fear our manager will have my head on a platter by the time I get back to the hotel, but it was absolutely worth it–our conversation, our delightful connection here in the sand, and getting to behold the Pacific at long last.”

“I agree. I think I’m going to feel pretty awful on my shift tonight, but I had a wonderful time with you. I couldn’t have dreamed it any better. Don’t be a stranger when you come back here in the future,” she said, searching his eyes and finding the same affection that she was feeling.

“I won’t.” Robert stood and helped Maggie to her feet. They brushed off as much sand as they could, kissed briefly, grabbed their shoes and the bottle, and headed to the street.


End file.
